So close, yet so far away

There is one person I am very close to who – if geographically closer - would be a much bigger part of my life. Not only would we be able to spend more time together, but there’s a possibility we’d spend the rest of our lives together.

But if it’s only distance that’s separating us, then why not move closer? Simple question; not so simple answer.

J is in school and doesn’t live nearby. I have a thriving career and don’t live anywhere near J.

But, what would happen if the distance (and school and/or career) is a moot point? Does distance really make the heart grow fonder? And, when that distance is capped, will you feel differently? Can you even begin to dislike the other person?

I’ve seen relationships break and fall apart when two people moved in together. What was first a little quirk later became a huge annoyance. J and I know how we feel for the other person. We’re practically seconds away from registering at Crate and Barrel.

I doubt we’d get on each other’s bad sides. Still, it makes me wonder if the whole ‘sleeping with one leg out of the covers’ thing will piss me off when there aren’t any covers on the bed.

I guess only time (and distance) will tell.

Let it go

Sometimes it’s hard to let go of something when it’s always there. In the case of a certain someone, it would be so much easier if he wasn’t following me around.

I’ve been rather successful in ignoring him and know that it irks him because of my sources. But, I’d rather not have him around. In fact, no one wants him around because no one likes him. It would be so much easier for everyone to not have an out-of-shape albatross in the same room.

When M hears me mention this certain someone, she huffs. “S, you have to let it go,” she says while standing amongst her friends.

“Ok, fine. How do I do it? Seriously. Tell me how.” I extend my arms forward, reaching in the air. I really want to know. This shit has to stop.

They can’t answer my question. Whether it’s because they don’t know how, or because they can’t pull from their own experiences, I’m not sure. All I know is they can’t give me some advice because they don’t have any.

I’m going to have to find a way to let it go, unless there isn’t a way to do so. If that’s the case, then we’re going to have to lug around this burden with love-handles for a while.

Finding out sooner than later

There’s someone I’ve been chatting with online and I decide to do a little bit of research on. It’s not a typical thing to do, but looking back on my record of people I date, it’s a wise choice.

I see there’s a Facebook profile and I see there are a couple of friends in common. One of them is my friend D. I get a little suspicious when I see a lot of comments between the two of them. I text D immediately and I get a reply in less than five minutes.

“Call me right now I know a lot call asap,” is D’s message.

The next 15 minutes are filled with a lot of details that I don’t expect. Some of them are rather G-rated, while others are not. I am not expecting this, but am amused by some of it. True, some of the things I already knew, but others only a proctologist would know.

Yet, all of this doesn’t faze me. It interests me even more. I’m told to watch my step and not to show too much interest at first. Have fun, go with the flow and see where it goes. Since I know these rules via my friend, I think it’s great he told me about them sooner rather than later before I could wind up getting hurt.

Your job is not your career

Whenever I hear of people just dropping everything to go on long trips, take extended leaves from their job or just goof around because they don’t want to work, I have to wonder if they have it any better than I do because they can leave whenever they want.

Then I realize the reason why they can do this: their jobs.

I’m sure it’s great to have a menial job in the service industry where responsibility doesn’t exist and can be passed onto the next person. Work a couple of days a week, party for the rest of the time. It’s perfect!

Only they’re not thinking about one thing: their future employer.

When I graduated, I was looking towards my future in the industry with my two degrees. I wasn’t looking for a job; I wanted a career. Why did I spend all that time in school if I wasn’t going to get something out of it (except student debt)?

Would you want to put on your CV that you were a server or in retail for the past five-to-ten years? If that’s what you want to do for your life, then go right ahead. If not, I’m sure your prospective employers will get a good chuckle after reading about your complete lack of experience on your CV.

Play the lottery, people. Only then will you have a better chance at making some money.

Why don’t I run into people I like?

P and I are walking down College Street after taking a shopping trip for some computer parts when we have to figure out where we’re going next. We’re being all smiley because it’s been a good day for the both of us, so far. We enjoy each other’s company and it’s noticeable to others who are around us.

Before we turn onto University Avenue, a guy barely misses us and walks in front. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize who it is. From the patter of the walk, I recognize it’s Crazy. He’s coming back from Holt Renfrew, carrying their signature hot pink bag. I know he went shopping for himself since he doesn't buy things for others.

“That’s Crazy,” I tell P.

“That’s Crazy? How do you know?”

“That ugly fish bag he’s carrying. And, I also know the walk.” Yes, the walk which is a little patter of someone who looks like they have something rammed so far up their ass, it’s almost a wonder they’re even able to bend over.

P looks over at me and practically rolls his eyes, as if to say, God, you were an idiot to date that. He’s not the only one who has had the same reaction. Apparently, I could’ve done better, yet no one told me this before. It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. Emotional car crashes deserve another kind of insurance.

It’s at times like these when I wonder why I don’t run into people I like. I hardly see any of my friends on the street. The only time I was completely shocked was when I heard my sister call my name on Queen Street as she was heading to work after teaching at the University (yes, she’s smart).

As P and I carry on down University, the ugly fish bag fades from view and we carry on like the happening was happenstance. The next time I hope to run into a friend, or at least an acquaintance who I like.

Shameless flirting

There’s someone who I have shamelessly flirted with and I am not too proud about it. They're in another caste and probably get hit on by way hotter than me. If I think I'm a 7/10, then this person is off the charts (and I am not the only one who thinks this).

I am not a person to flirt, nor do I like it when people flirt with me. In fact, I really don’t know how to. That’s why it’s always a bit awkward.

Since they’re in another caste, does it really matter? It’s not like they’re interested (which I know because I found out their type, and I ain’t it by a long shot). In fact, they probably enjoy having a dork like me making the occasional comment or goo-goo eye.

Whatever. It's over in a couple of seconds. But, it’s always self-affirming your actions aren’t for naught when they smile and respond after you pick your tongue off the floor.

Don't fuck with those with more power than you

It has been said it's not wise to burn bridges with people. You never know when you might have to cross that bridge, again. That's a reason why I have always tried to maintain civil relationships with people even in uncivil circumstances.

But, there are some people who cross your path and shit all over it. Not out of negligence, but on purpose. Those are the people who you have to keep an eye on because they’ll try to muck it up again. I won’t be there with a shovel to clean up any crap, but I will be there with baseball bat, ready to nick some ankles.

I’m not being vindictive, I’m just helping karma move at a brisker pace.

Don't mess with those who have more power than you. Bitch, they’ll fuck you up.

Texting the wrong people at the wrong time

While waiting around for an event to begin, I pull out my phone and begin texting people, hoping they'll reply. I'm bored and need a little stimulation before I fall asleep while leaning against the wall.

With one hand, I flick my cell phone open, type a few words with my free hand (the other has a bottle of water), and send it to several people. Hopefully, they have their phones nearby to reply. There isn't a long wait before my phone begins to vibrate.

There's a problem: I get a reply from someone I didn't mean to message - a former playdate.

Apparently, after typing in the text, I sent it to the wrong name. There are several people with the same name on my contact list and this time I typed the wrong one.

I reply back with some vague note and hope it goes away. It isn't because I'm mortified, it's because this person disappeared off the face of the planet (and dissed me). Unfortunately, it doesn't let up. A few more vague texts ends the conversation.

Later on, I send another text in the same manner (one handed to several people). I get a reply fairly quickly. It's from Crazy. Fuck. I put in the wrong contact, again. ARGH!!

"Who is this? I just got a new phone," is the text.

I don't reply. I could, but don't. Part of me wants to write "Wrong guy" (double entendre) but I refrain from that. In fact, it's a great thing my contact info is no longer around (although I know Crazy knows my number from memory from the 3X a day phone calls, trying to calm the neuroses of the nutty).

Of course, people ask why I bother to keep old phone numbers (especially of certain people). The reason is simple: if that contact calls or texts me, I know who it is. Whether or not I pick up and answer is another story.

I stop texting and put my phone in my pocket. Until I learn how to use it, I should stop texting people.

No matter the age, she always looks the same

It’s my sister’s birthday today. It’s not a significant one. She’s not turning 16, nor is she anywhere near 40. And, she isn’t going to retire at 65 any time soon - that's another two-plus decades. She’s just getting a little bit older, like the rest of us.

Whenever I see her, she always looks the same. It’s very similar to how I see my parents. My mother’s skin sags a little and my father has gained a lot of weight, but they still resemble the people who raised me.

My sister has no wrinkles (sunscreen and clean skin is all it takes), and there are more white hairs on my head than hers. After giving birth to two little girls, she’s a little curvier than when she was a teenager, but that’s a given for anyone. On any given day, she appears years younger than what she really is.

And, when I see her, she’s still my sister. She’s the same person I grew up with. There hasn’t been a great deviation in personality, but a constancy that has strengthened (sometimes for the worse, being stubborn like the rest of my family).

So, to her I wish a happy birthday. When she turns 40, it’s going to be another story altogether.

Hermies Hermès

As we’re sitting in the office, my boss comes around and walks towards B, my co-worker. She’s dressed all in black and as I swivel in my chair, I notice her boots. They’re quite spectacular.

"N, those boots sort of look like Hermès," I say as I glance at her.

"S, do you know who you’re talking to?" asks B, rather sarcastically. "This is N. She doesn’t buy things that look like Hermès. She buys Hermès."

Whatever, I think. I practically roll my eyes so far back in my head, I can see behind me. My boss sees my expression.

"Well, Michael Kors has something similar in his latest line." I throw that back in her face. Just because she wears a lot of black, doesn't mean she knows anything about style."And anyway, you have to give me credit. At least I can distinguish from halfway across the room if they could be Hermès, or not."

I swivel around and go back to work, as if to say Don't you question my style knowledge. She wouldn't know the difference between Hermies or Hermès if it kicked her the ass with a pair of $4,000 boots.

Gotta sing (pt. 2)

... I sang one of her songs to her.

Granted, I didn't sing the entire 4:30 version of the single, but only the first eight lines before heading to the chorus.

She gives me a who-does-this-skinny-white-boy-think-he-is-singing-a-song-by-an-R&B-diva? kind of looks, but I don’t care. I did it. I sang a song – out loud – to an actual singing star.

I quickly apologize for my act of sheer ballsiness. She tells me not to worry, that I’m good. I take this compliment and smile inside. I tell her she can now enter the building and if she needs anything, she can ask for me (this is standard protocol since I’m the celebrity relations manager).

Later on, some of my colleagues come up to me and ask why we were talking for such a long time. I tell them what happened and their reactions were all the same. Most of them had their mouths agape in the I-can’t-believe-he-had-the-balls-to-do-something-like-that kind of way.

I didn’t care. When you gotta sing, you gotta sing.

Gotta sing (pt. 1)

It’s one of the biggest events of the year. It’s also very exclusive. There’s a media embargo which states no one can say a word about what’s going on inside. Everyone is supposed to be quiet, but it’s hard because secrets don’t bode well for many.

I’m on the red carpet, greeting the celebrities and VIPs for the event. They’re well-known in the Canadian media landscape – a couple of movie actors, a slew of singers and television personalities, and a mix of designers and models/muses.

One of the first guests is a top R&B diva, of which I am a huge fan of. I have her CDs and know every song by heart. Her voice resembles that of Whitney Houston before the freebasing.

She’s greeted by the media on the red carpet and she answers their inane questions about the night’s event, her reason for being there (a new album is going to drop) and any other item that pops into their mind.

When she gets to the end of the red carpet, I greet her and say a couple of pleasantries. She doesn’t know what she has to do since she was the first arrival (and she’s very early because her rehearsal wrapped up not too long before). I don’t know what to do, either. Should I let her enter the venue, or should she stay on the red carpet for a few more minutes just in case another media outlet shows up? Because there’s always a chance for a camera to arrive late to the party, I keep her where she is and we continue with small talk.

It doesn’t take long before we start to talk about music and how it affects so many people. I tell her I’m a fan and keep her CD in my car at all times. She’s very gracious and thanks me for saying that.

Then I do one of the things I never expected I would do except for in my dreams...